Years apart
by tediouslydull
Summary: Sherlock decides to ask John along on a new case. It sounded like the perfect oppertunity to tell him he's alive.


"John, could you get the door? I'm a bit busy cooking." Mary shouted from the kitchen. "Sure, love," John called and lifted his arse off the couch. Who the bloody hell could be ringing at six o'clock in the evening? Not a sales man and they weren't expecting company. John sighed as he took hold of the door knob and pulled at the door. "Hello, John." John's heart turned to ice and his breath haltered. His eyes moved rapidly, seeing everything (black coat, curls, gloves, scarf, icy eyes) but not able to put all of the information into one piece that he once called Sherlock. Sherlock coughed "Put on a bit of weight, I see." John kept staring before finally being able to utter the man's name. "Sher…Sherlock?" He saw the man grinning. "But how? You…you were dead." "Yes, kind of a fancy disappearance act I pulled out, didn't I." "No, this…" John grabbed his head, feeling a severe head ache coming up, or maybe a haemorrhage. "You! How could you? Three years, Sherlock, three bloody years." John shouted. "John, who is it?" Mary called, a slight worrying in her voice, he heard her coming to the door. "It's Sherlock...," he said when she stood behind him. Normally, she would have greeted any man standing at their door. But she had heard all about Sherlock from John. And moreover, she was a bit scared. Scared of the tall man, peering through her with those judging eyes. John turned his head immediately back to Sherlock who breathed in, wanted to say something. "No- No you don't, shut it", John said and turned to hold Mary. "I'm going out a bit, you don't want to have him in our house." Mary nodded. 'But, John, will-" "I'll be fine," John interrupted her as he put a soft kiss onto her cheek. He turned back to Sherlock who tilted his head. "Move."

Sherlock didn't talk all the way towards the park 500 metres from John's flat. He thought it was best to wait for John to 'brake the ice'. Thing's weren't looking very good. Though he knew it was better than getting the door smacked to his face. One of his worst-case scenario's. Sherlock had some best-case scenario's too. But those seemed more something that would only happen in fairy tales. _And pretty grim ones too,_ his brain automatically pulled forward. He had to settle for mediocre. It was against his standards, but this was John. And he would do anything for John. He noticed the man was leading them to a bench. John sat down and rubbed his hair. When he noticed Sherlock didn't sit next to him he looked up to him and raised his eyebrows. Sherlock sighed and sat.

Five minutes past in which John sighed and scoffed and Sherlock just stared at him. "Right," John finally said. "Just this one thing, and then I'm going back. I don't want to know how you did it. Knowing that you're alive is just enough." Sherlock smiled – a bit. "Why, after three bloody year, would you come down knocking at my door like a fucking house elf looking for a new home." "An elf, John?" "You have some features in common." Sherlock smiled, but immediately straightened out his face when he saw John wasn't in a joking mood. He cleared his throat. "I have a case and you're my blogger." "I would have thought that contract had ended when you were laying all splattered on the ground in front of St. Bart's!" John nearly shouted. "Well, yes. That's why I wanted to renew it." John smiled a bit and shock his head. "Unbelievable. I'm sorry, but I'm not signing up for anything. Mary is expecting me. I don't want you ruining our night." John stood up, but Sherlock dragged him down immediately. He couldn't hold it anymore. He was almost seeing red. Emotions reeling through his mind, which was bad, because he know he couldn't predict his actions in this state. "YOUR night ruined? What about MY night? In fact, what about MY life." "Your life? What life? Didn't that end three years ago?" Sherlock looked straight at John, jaws clenching. Barely able to control himself. "Just find yourself another pet," John hissed and walked away. Sherlock flinched. That hurt. That actually hurt. He ran to John. "You and only you belong in 221B," he muttered. "I'm getting married, Sherlock, in just a week, JESUS, just leave me alone," he shouted as he waved his arms to create more space between them. Sherlock should have really backed off, but he couldn't control the words coming from his mouth anymore. So he just let out whatever popped into his mind. "Oh all lovey-dovey, are we. John and Mary how quaint! Don't you see what you're doing. You've become quite selfish, John" Sherlock said rapidly. "Whose being selfish? You'd rather have John and Sherlock, wouldn't you." That made Sherlock shut up. Yes, he thought. It had always been us. Three years it had only be me. While John just sought comfort with this… this woman, who clearly couldn't offer him what Sherlock offered. The man had gained five stone for God's sake. Two more years and he'll be morbidly obese. But as much as he liked, he couldn't admit it to John. He couldn't admit he missed him. Not now. Not now he had been taken away from him. Permanently. He knew John, man of high morality. Not a chance he would abandon her. He sighed. "Apologies." John raised his eyebrows at this. "I'm… I'm… I just… What would you have done, in my place? I had to see you." John thought back at those years with Sherlock. In his place? Who could ever imagine how it was being in Sherlock's place? He was his best friend, so he had the highest chances at that. He faked his suicide. To save his friend, Mycroft had said. Had been hanging around somewhere for three years, doing God knows what. Probably drugs, high chance at that. Still, he had hurt John. Hurt him like no other man had ever done. Hurt him where he couldn't be cured, where no knife could ever reach. So he went on, hurting Sherlock. "Sorry, a sane person can never imagine how it's like in a psychopath's head", he turned and starting to walk away. Sherlock looked at his back. John had changed. Had he changed John so much? He had lost him. Forever. Sherlock sat on the ground, almost collapsed. He didn't feel like solving that case Lestrade brought him this morning. He remembered thinking that maybe John would come back. That John would smile at him, his white teeth visible and his blue eyes sparkling. Sherlock started to sob. Soon real tears where falling down and the sob turned into a whimper, his body shaking. He was suffocating. He held his curls and wiggled. John would never again shout at him. John would never be amazed about his deductions. John would stay with his lady friend. Having a happy life, surrounded by kids and joy joy bloody joy. It wasn't fair. Sherlock never did anything wrong in his life. Why didn't HE deserve what he wished for? The only thing he wished for. Fuck fuck fuck. Why hadn't he jumped of that roof till he hit the ground. Nobody cared for him. Nobody he wanted to care. "NNnaaagghh," he started to shout, grabbing his curls and wobbling his head faster and faster. Care, caring, feelings, jealousy, hate, love. Yes love. Hate love. He hates love. Who would want love. Why call it love. Why not hurt. Fucking hurts. He continued to shout, not knowing his mouth was even producing those sounds as he was fully focused on his thoughts. Thoughts he couldn't keep up with. Thoughts that really shouldn't matter, that he should delete. But he couldn't. And he couldn't listen to them either. They hurt, they were destroying him. Gun like Moriarty, easy, painless? Probably. Less pain was good. Hated himself. His annoying brain. He made him feel this way. Yes, it was all John's fault. He turned him into this caring, feeling, ticking time bomb. Any moment he could explode. _You could_. I could. I could, I was clever. Clever is all I have. Sherlock thoughts kept going. Which is why he didn't heard the steps approaching, which is why he didn't even see John as he kneeled down to Sherlock's side.

John had heard him shouting. And as the curiosity got the best of him, he turned to look. He didn't expect what he saw next, though. Sherlock was in foetal position on the ground, growling incoherent things. He was having some kind of panic attack. John immediately felt bad, knowing he had caused it. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, he still cared for Sherlock. He was a dick, yes, but he had been his best friend. So he kneeled in front of him and tried to call his name. He got no response whatsoever. Sherlock was still wobbling, head buried in his arms. "Sherlock?" John tried again, as he now softly took hold of the man's arms and dragged them from his head. Sherlock's eyes shot at him and John was overwhelmed by the intensity of them. The tears had turned them into an almost fluorescent green. "Nnnoo!"Sherlock shouted. "Get away from me." Sherlock crawled backwards, breathing heavily. "I don't want your false pity," he spitted out between his tears. John let his palm slide over his face. He couldn't leave Sherlock like this. He thought he would just leave and went on with his life, because well, John thought Sherlock would just delete his existence. "Sherlock," he crawled toward him. Sherlock was wobbling again, eyes blurred, unfocused. Autistic, John thought, definitely autistic. He took Sherlock's sleeve. Sherlock just kept on wobbling. "Sherlock.." The man didn't react. John waved his arms around him and dragged him into a hug, holding him tightly as the man started to protest, wanting to free himself from John's grip. John could feel his tears smut his face, but he didn't care. He wanted Sherlock to "Stop it". "Shhh, Sherlock, stop it", he continued to say as he wobbled his friend comfortingly. After a minute, Sherlock stopped moving, his thoughts haltered and finally stopped and all he could thing about now was John and John's smell and John holding him. "Shhh, it's alright. I'm not gone", John continued. "I didn't mean what I said, well I did, but it came out rather harsh, didn't it. I'm sorry." He let go of Sherlock and looked at his face. Sherlock looked at him questioningly, his face glistering. John wrapped his hand in his sleeve and cleaned off Sherlock's face. Sherlock's eyes were scanning his trough the process. Then he started crying again, a bit more in control this time, though. He just felt so far away from John, while the man was practically in his lap. "Ah, Sherlock, no, please, don't," John said, his eyes worried. "I don't pity you. It's just… I didn't… I don't know. What can I say, Sherlock, to make you… stop this?" "You've said enough, John", Sherlock said, voice extraordinary cold. "I didn't mean it. What would you have done, being in my place?" Sherlock smirked sadly. "You mean, me the psychopath trying to comprehend feelings? Normal person's actions? You're asking me quite a lot." "Nothing the great Sherlock Holmes can't manage, I figured," John smiled at him. Sherlock returned the smile, though it had its bitter edges. "I wish you didn't see my…. episode. Last time I had one of those was 15 years ago." "Mycroft?" John asked. Sherlock nodded. "Mycroft." They both started laughing loudly, though John really thought they shouldn't be laughing at that. But the tension leaving with it was relieving and he could see Sherlock was doing much better. "I missed this," Sherlock finally managed to say. "Yeah, me too." He looked at him and soon they were staring at each other, trying to figure out what the other was thinking. Sherlock's eyes were soft and sad. He averted his eyes. "John, I… there's something I need to tell you." Oh, no, John thought, what has he done. There must be more than just a case that brought him back to him. Some deep-shit problem perhaps that has also caused him to have this 'episode'. "No, no, it's nothing like that," Sherlock claimed as he waved his hand. John had forgotten how it felt being with a man who could sometimes almost read your mind. "It's… I… You know, my note?" "The phone call," John nodded. "Yes. Well, I knew I wasn't really going to die. If I was in fact, was going to die, I'd have chosen different words. Though they could've hurt you more in the end. I would've chosen different words." Sherlock said, looking expectantly at John. John didn't get it. "What do you mean?" "I would have said that I cared for you. That you had made me happy. That I would gladly die for you." Sherlock stopped and moved his hand to touch John's cheek. "And that I love you," he ended. John slowly grabbed Sherlock's hand. "You loved me," he repeated. "No, no past tense. I love you." Sherlock bluntly said. John just stared. Sherlock sighed. What was he thinking? He stood up, leaving John kneeled on the ground and started to walk away. "Hey! Hey, wait up," John said as he tucked on Sherlock's sleeve. Sherlock looked at him, tipping his head. "I loved you too," John said, turning red. "You did?" "Yes, I did. I…do? I don't know, this is all so confusion. Mary…" Sherlock nodded. "I'm sorry for putting you in this position, John. It's fine, though. I will… cope eventually." "Cope with what? Drug's and OD's or a gun to your head?" John knew him. Sherlock leaned forward and quickly kissed the man chastely on the lips. John's mouth opened in surprise. "I'm sorry," Sherlock said. "I love you, I'm sorry," he continued, barely realising he wasn't making any sense. John crabbed Sherlock's scarf and dragged his lips onto his, making sure that this time, the kiss was a proper one. When they parted both men breathed heavily. Sherlock's eyes were moving rapidly. "You ruined our first, thought our second should be a real one." John stated. "Yes," Sherlock said "Not everybody's an expert," he continued being a bit distant, afraid of what would happen next. Both men were silent. Sherlock couldn't imagine leaving John now. Not when he finally had tasted him. "Would you give me a second chance? To love you?" he asked. John rubbed his front head. "Shit, Sherlock, what do I now? What about Mary? How do I –" Sherlock simply interrupted him by dragging John towards him and pressing their lips together for the third time. He could feel John opening his mouth, both men moaning as their tongues met. Jolts of electric becoming lightening. Sherlock finally pulled away to breath, putting his front head on John's. "My wish..," he said. "Thanks for saving me. I'm sorry if… if I –" "It's ok, Sherlock. I'll find a way. It all doesn't matter." "If we're together," Sherlock whispered, stroking John's hair and thanking the universe that today he had all he ever wanted.


End file.
